Harry Potter: If Only
by TeamVampire
Summary: Harry Potter version. Series of one shots about hilarious situations which could occur, if only someone would trigger them.
1. Voldemort Had a TimeTurner

**What just might happen if Voldemort got a hold of a Time-Turner. Set sometime before he died, obviously.**

**Disclaimer: As much as it pains me to type it (it's like a dagger, a dagger in my heart), I don't own Harry Potter.**

If Only Voldemort Had a Time-Turner

Third Person POV

After years of plotting and scheming, Voldemort had finally managed to smuggle a Time-Turner out from under the noses of the Ministry. His plan could finally come to fruition. All he had to do was go back in time to his years at Hogwarts and become his former self's mentor, thus guaranteeing his defeat of Harry Potter. A simple enough plan. The only hard part had been getting his bony fingers on the device that would enable it all. And, he supposed, he would have to be careful of Dumbledore once he was in the past.

But that would be easy for a wizard as powerful as him, he assured himself. He pushed it from his mind and delicately hung the Time-Turner around his neck. Many twists of the hourglass later and he was over fifty years in the past.

* * *

Striding up to the gates of Hogwarts, Voldemort wondered briefly how his past self would react. Would he be shocked? Amazed? Maybe even a little scared? He brushed the worry away before it had time to settle into his thoughts. It was natural for inferior wizards to fear him, but the young Tom Riddle would understand as soon as Voldemort explained. He knew himself better than anyone.

Voldemort waited at the stone boar flanked gates as a light came closer through the light mist to meet him, alerting him to the fact that he had arrived either sometime at night, or very early in the morning. This irked him slightly. He had planned to make his entrance shortly before dinner, to ensure the young Tom would not be sleeping or otherwise occupied. But apparently his calculations were off.

His slight error was all but forgotten as the light drew nearer, illuminating its carrier's face. Voldemort recognized him as Ogg, the gamekeeper who had eventually been replaced by that oafish Hagrid. He still had his left eye, so this must have been in Tom's first year. Excellent, his calculations hadn't been _that_ mistaken.

"Who's there?" asked Ogg gruffly. "You got some nerve to be coming here at this time of night."

"I have an appointment with the headmaster," replied Voldemort smoothly. "It's very important I see him immediately."

"The headmaster, huh? I haven't been told nothin' about anyone coming to see him."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes slightly, watching as Ogg recoiled at the resemblance to a snake he bore. "I have private business with him. He specifically requested I come at this time."

"All right, all right. Give me a minute, then," said Ogg, opening the gates and mumbling about never being told anything.

Voldemort stepped through before they were fully ajar and lit his wand. Without waiting for Ogg to shut the gates again, he walked quickly towards the castle.

* * *

Coming to a halt at the entrance to Slytherin's common room, where he planned to wait out the night, Voldemort racked his larger than average brain for the password. It had been something really stupid. He remembered being annoyed by it constantly.

Voldemort sighed, not coming up with anything. Process of elimination, then. "Salazar?" Nothing happened. "Pure-blood?" Still, nothing moved.

"Snake huggers?" he asked, wincing even as he said it. The gray stone wall stayed motionless, by which he was both frustrated and relieved. That would have been an embarrassing password.

Embarrassing... That was exactly how he'd described it. Embarrassingly obvious.

"Slithering," muttered Voldemort. The stone split and slid apart to admit him. Professor Slughorn had a pathetic sense of humor.

Voldemort was surprised to see the common room wasn't empty as he had expected. Sitting on an armchair close to the weak fire was a small, dark haired boy he immediately recognized as himself. A younger, less reptilian version of himself.

The wall closed again with a quiet thud, just loud enough to make the young Riddle's head swivel around to glare at the newcomer. Even as a first year, he held enough authority in the school to terrify a large number of the students. No one knew exactly what it was. Perhaps his scathing remarks and death stares. Or maybe it was his face. It had a certain look about it. The kind that made any who passed under his gaze stop and think, _He would make a fantastic snake faced dark lord._

Voldemort walked closer to Tom, the firelight illuminating more of his face as he came closer. Eventually he was right in front of the boy, and now even the hard hearted child had to be a little afraid. Voldemort scrutinized him, then slowly extended his hand.

"Good evening, Tom Riddle."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

Voldemort laughed, though it was only an attempt to make his former self more comfortable and held no mirth. "Allow me to explain," he said, seating himself directly opposite Tom on an old couch. "I am from the future. I've come to offer you my aid. Mentor you, if you like. I know a great deal of things that I'm sure you would be interested in. The key to controlling the world, for instance."

"The future?" questioned Tom, though his eyes lit up at the mention of world domination. "How can I trust you?" He was already uneasy about this man's appearance, and experience had taught him never to trust anyone.

"My dear Tom," said Voldemort, fixing his eyes on his future apprentice, "I am the _only _person you can trust. I am your future."

Tom Riddle stared for a moment, then jumped off the couch, already sprinting towards the boys' dormitories before Voldemort had time to blink.

* * *

Tom slammed his dormitory door loudly, not caring if he woke his dorm mates. Back pressed to the door and panting heavily, he mentally canceled all his plans to take over the world. _Nothing _was worth looking like a lizard.

**Each chapter is a one shot, not connected in any way.**

**Review. I spent ages on this and will be forced to abandon this idea without an adequate number. And I know how much you all _love_ my sense of humor, addicting as it is.**

**-TeamVampire**


	2. The Light Had a Mark

**Okay, I admit it. I got the idea from ThisbeHecate's Potions Homework Series, and she (?) got it from DrunkYouthProdigiesAssociation's '40 Ways to Tick Off the Order of the Phoenix'. Could this be the end of my originality? Don't worry, I'm scared, too.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own the series, don't own the characters, heck, I don't even own the idea. I feel like a puppet.**

If Only the Light Had a Mark

Third Person POV

The Death Eaters stood around celebrating with an excess of Butterbeer, Firewhisky and Muggle torture. The Death Eater Quidditch World Cup had undeniably been the best ever. Voldemort himself had acted as host and Peter Pettigrew was the commentator. Granted, it was a little more violent and underhanded than normal Quidditch, but that was the way they liked it.

Reminiscing about the events of the past few hours, they all decided that the best part was when Fenrir Greyback had latched onto Bellatrix Lestrange's robes in an attempt to stop her from reaching the Snitch. Bellatrix had reacted with the fiery temper that was expected from her. Looking back on it, Greyback realized he should have seen it coming.

Bellatrix had pulled her wand from her sleeve with lightning speed, but instead of rounding on Greyback, she turned to Yaxley and shot a spell at his broom. Yaxley stared for a moment as the end of the broomstick started growing wider, then split in two. A mouth, complete with jagged wooden teeth, formed and began gnashing viciously in Greyback's direction. That was about the time Yaxley realized he had lost all control over his broom. Being Death Eaters, they thought themselves above such dependence that is brought about by having Mediwizards on hand, so Greyback did not receive any medical treatment for some time. Needless to say, Bellatrix's team won.

Second to that was Lucius Malfoy's realization that flying on a broomstick is very much like riding a bike. You never forget how to do it, but after a few decades of leaving your broom locked in a cupboard, it's always a _little _bit more straining on the muscles than you remember. Specifically, where you're seated. Roughly half an hour into the game, Lucius had apparently decided that he wasn't made for playing Quidditch and executed a less than graceful fall from his broom, at around fifty feet above the ground. Lucius, too, was neglected treatment for at least an hour, in which time he demonstrated every show of pain known to man. Screaming, swearing, crying and shooting random curses in every direction were just a few the Death Eaters saw that day. Snape made sure everyone knew he was creating a highlight reel to put in his Pensieve, and the Death Eaters began ordering copies faster than he could produce them.

But alas, all good things must come to an end. After killing someone for saying "alas" because he thought they must be in league with Dumbledore, Voldemort had left to set in motion his latest Harry killing scheme. The Death Eaters would have to be gone by the morning, but the rest of the night was theirs and they intended to make the most of it.

"Hey thar, Macnair," slurred a drunken Travers. "Jus' been over thar... torturin' me some of them Mudbloods. How's you goin'?"

A much less drunk, though still slightly tipsy, Walden Macnair stared at where Travers had pointed for a moment before replying. "Travers, you idiot! They're not Mudbloods! Those are new recruits!"

Travers blinked a few times and surveyed the area until he spotted the trembling young Death Eaters. "Wha' was tha'? New recruitses, you say? Aw, crap... Why di'n't you tell me, Macnary?"

Macnair briefly considered shooting a quick Avada Kedavra from inside his robes but decided that he wasn't important enough to get away with it. If he could just get Bellatrix over here...

"Okays, I gotta go before somebuddy tells 'em it was me who done it," said Travers, interrupting his thoughts. "Lemme know if... if..." Travers stopped for a moment, his eyes crossed. He refocused on Macnair's face and laughed loudly. "All righ', I'll see you later, buddy!" He clapped Macnair on the shoulder and stumbled off.

Macnair stared after him bewilderedly until Bellatrix's head blocked his view.

"You know, if you keep ogling men like that, people are going to suspect something."

Macnair blinked as though he was the drunk one. "What? Oh... Ha ha... That was good."

"Yes, I can tell by your sincere praise," commented Bellatrix dryly. "You should get into acting. This line of work is obviously beneath your considerable talent."

Deciding to ignore her jabs, Macnair changed the subject. "I really could have used you here a few minutes earlier. Travers was being very irritating. Even more than usual."

"You should have just Avada'ed him. I think the Dark Lord's actually been meaning to do it for a while now, but Lucius keeps distracting him with his brown nosing. It's all 'What a marvelous plan, my lord' and 'Brilliant idea, master' with him now. He's aiming for a promotion. Narcissa's been going a bit overboard with her shopping lately, apparently they're having relationship problems." At this Bellatrix laughed cruelly. "Anyway, with her spending so much on dragon hide shoes and him constantly having to bribe the Ministry, he really needs a position where he can get his share of the loot."

Macnair, anticipating Bellatrix's unbearably annoying gossip, had finished off his full glass of Ogden's Old Firewhisky in the time she was talking, then summoned an entire bottle of mead, which he had downed just as quickly. Realizing she was still speaking, he'd stolen another bottle from a passing Death Eater and was now quite intoxicated.

So when Bellatrix looked at him expectantly, all he could manage to say was, "Malfoy tot'ly oozes hydoden p'oxide," before he passed out in front of her.

After staring at him for a moment, Bellatrix let out an excited squeal. "Where did you hear that?! Oh, this is gold!" she shrieked, running off to spread the rumor.

Meanwhile, a more drunk than ever Travers was unsuccessfully trying to escape the wrath of the older brother of one of the new recruits he'd recently been torturing.

"I shwears I di'n't know 'e was a Deaf Eagle! I fought 'e was a Studbud, 'onest!" he yelled, effectively confusing the large Death Eater who had been advancing on him. Menacingly, too.

As the Death Eater paused to make an attempt at figure out what had just been said, Travers prepared himself for the worst: a noogie.

Having apparently decided to ignore his drunken ramblings, the Death Eater stepped forward, cracking his knuckles, but just as he raised his fist a spell hit him from somewhere behind Travers.

Travers breathed a sigh of relief and spun around to thank his savior, only to find himself face to face with what looked like the entire Order of the Phoenix. A quick Stunner from Mad Eye and Travers's evening came to a halt.

* * *

It was chaos at the Death Eater Quidditch World Cup. Members of the Order were everywhere, disarming Death Eaters and rescuing their victims, while the Death Eaters were screaming and running in all directions.

After a few hours, all of the Death Eaters were either captured or had escaped and their newly freed prisoners would be taken to St Mungo's. Taking the wand from an unconscious Selwyn and levitating his body into a temporary holding cell, Tonks looked around at the evening's accomplishments, a self-satisfied grin on her face.

Moody came limping over and Tonks quickly hid her smile. Moody shook his head good naturedly. "It's all right, Tonks. You did well tonight."

Tonks straightened up proudly. "All in a night's work."

"Yes, well, don't get too cocky about it."

"Yes, sir," said Tonks, no longer bothering to try to stop grinning. "Who's casting it this time?"

"That's why I came over here. Would you care to do the honors?" asked Moody, though he already knew the answer.

"Really? Of course I would!" exclaimed Tonks. She wasted no time in pointing her wand toward the sky and shouting,"_Avismordre_!"

Immediately, a jet of bright, red light shot up into the sky, forming a large skull with a phoenix sticking its head out of the mouth.

Every Dark wizarding family in a ten mile radius looked up at the night sky and gasped in horror.

"It's the Light Mark!"

**I think Voldemort may kill me for using "alas". Ah well, I brought it upon myself. I became arrogant and was really just trying to get on his nerves.**

**Anyone want to take a guess at what _Avismordre_ means? It's not that hard. As long as you know what _Morsmordre _means you'll be fine.**

**-TeamVampire**


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